Yukimarimo

Preserving Ancient Knowledge and Cultures: Indigenous Tales from Rehabilitated Edge Colonies

A Legend from the Frozen Pleiades of Yukimarimo

Recent archaeological excavations on the seven-planet cluster known as the Yukimarimo Pleiades, yielded surprising results. The white, frozen orbs, orbiting an edge spike, were not supposed to ever have been colonized. How, or when an Exodus ship landed in any of them is a matter ongoing debate. As with other such colonies, local legends have an eerie similarity to nearby edge-space conditions.

With this study, we hope to show the rehabilitation, recovery, and reintegration of lost Exodus colonies is possible and should always be pursued. Native populations need not fear losing their culture and identity. It is in our best interest to preserve each and every iteration of humanity. Some may say it is a matter of life and death for our species.

Without further ado, here is a transcript of Yukimarimo, as depicted in cave paintings discovered by our archeological mission to the planet.

The Snow Giant

Yukimarimo, the mighty snow giant, could not remember his past, nor why he had been condemned to wander the frozen plains. A long, icy chain, shackled to his left ankle didn’t offer any clues. Neither did the miniature snowball on the other end, which to his massive, hollow eye sockets, seemed absurd. Why would anyone chain him to something so small? Looking at it from an impossible height, he marveled at how perfectly round and shiny it was, and at the strange familiarity of his whole situation.  

He saw no end to the plains. The world around him was white if nothing else, except perhaps perfect, boring, and boundless.  There were no faults in the snow. He tried shaking off the chains to no avail. Next, he kneeled, picked up the snowball, and threw it with such force that part of his arm collapsed from the sky. Tall as a mountain, he didn’t feel a thing. That’s the first time he heard her voice, lost somewhere in the wind, reminding him of the futility of his plight.

You are the timekeeper, Yukimarimo. Time is your master. It is your slave. You’re bound to it for eternity, frozen along with it ‘til the end of existence.

Where had he heard that voice? Why did it sound so familiar?

With the rather unimpressive speed typical of giants, he took a few steps before feeling the pull against his ankle. Clank, clank, clank went the chains. The snowball was still there. He tried running, but the faster he ran, the quicker it grew behind him. At every step, and with every pull, parts of his body crumbled to the ground, the icy pearl rolling over them, growing larger as it consumed them. As it consumed him.

At first, time was light and easy to throw around. After a while it was unmovable, the colossal sphere towering over what little remained of who had once been a giant. Unable to pull any longer, Yukimarimo crunched into a tiny, fetal crumb, and much like his world, froze.

In an instant that may, or may not have lasted forever, the silence of the plains was broken as a thick, white shell finally cracked open. Out of it, Yukimarimo emerged. Staring down at a snowball below him, he kneeled to pick it up and threw it as far as he could. He did not remember his past.

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A dozen natives in varying stages of cryostasis were also unearthed next to Yukimarimo’s cave paintings. Their current status and whereabouts are listed as unknown. We know, however, that at least three of them survived the subsequent thawing. Their testimony, available along with copies of the drawings, depicts a life of extremes in the permafrost and the nomadic lifestyle of hundreds of independent clans. None of the survivors recalled any snow giants. None of them could remember their past.  

There is no record, or evidence of any kind, of an Exodus mission ever arriving at the planet or its six sibling worlds. We have no alternative hypotheses for the appearance of humanity in the cluster.

How could these nomadic tribes have known their worlds shrink and grow in cycles that last over five hundred years? It’s not like the thick atmosphere offers a view of the sky. An edge spike couldn’t have helped either, its infinite gravity distorting time and space in the entire celestial vicinity. Add to that a cult of forgetfulness prevalent among Yukimarimo’s survivors, and our research team faces a rather disheartening uphill battle. We can only hope that whoever unfroze these poor souls may extract useful answers from them, or that we discover other clans lost in these seven relics of edge-space.